Almost two weeks since the funeral. Hard to believe. Lots to recon with in the aftermath. Found a letter he'd written to a newspaper in South Dakota, an inquiry never answered regarding the lineage of a certain Sioux chief, and in reading it heard his voice again. There've been moments of thinking I should pick up the phone and call him only to realize, oh yeah, he's not here anymore. Hope, wherever he is, he's been reunited with his dog. She was the last of his great losses, and he never really got over her.
Finally have a reader draft of what was once called "Bad Good Friday." I've renamed it "Frank the Redeemer," which seems to be a much better fit. Anyway, giving it a couple of days to cool, after which I'll start researching pubs. Have good feelings about the piece, but then I should after all the time it's taken to mould in to something respectable. This was one of those labors you never forget.
Got a light rain late this afternoon. The grass already looks like Augusta, and when the trees and shrubs fill in, the yard ought to look like a showpiece. Knocking wood as I write this we don't get another debilitating hail storm this spring. The two previous springs have wiped out more plant life than I care to remember.
Good to be back at the journal. Gotta keep punching.